Time-treading Twins
by RHGroeninga
Summary: Fred died. Only, just an instant earlier, someone dragged him back in time. He finds himself in the year 1971, one year younger than the Marauders, and without his twin. What is going on? Will he be able to fit in? Can he change the future? And, above all, where the heck is George?
1. Chapter 1

"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.

"You actually are joking, Perce… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

The air exploded. An unfathomable force wacked Fred forward, but before he could even begin his fall a heavy piece off castle stone crushed his spine, black blobs hindered his sight, debris cut into his flesh and his ears filled with a sharp tone as his grin faded – then all stone and rubble flew aside, as arms yanked him up and held him closely.

Fred struggled but couldn't escape their strong grip. Panic stroke him; why couldn't he feel pain, was he dead? What was happening to him!? He caught glimpses of the hall he was standing in, but his vision was distorted by the dark matter swirling around him in incredible speed, too quick to get a real understanding of his surroundings. Actually, everything outside the little bubble around him and his assaulter was incomprehensible and out of his reach.

Fred wrestled with all his might to see the person's face, but in all his confusion couldn't get the upper hand. Only when he was roughly hauled to the side he managed to break loose, turning around just as the attacker was thrown out of the whirlwind. Fred staggered backwards, noticed the chaos slightly slowing down before he also crossed its power field and was launched through the hallway, skidding over the carpet until he was stopped by a grey, unimpaired wall.

He lay on his back, taking a few deep gasps, before a dreadful wave of nausea overcame him. He had to do his utter best to prevent throwing up in that right instant; as it wouldn't be the place nor the moment to do so. He attempted scrambling upright, ending up on all fours, his vision blackening once again. Someone had seen him, feet walking, people talking, arguing.

That moment, he couldn't hold back any longer and vomited violently on the richly decorated carpet. He was barely aware of the disgusted cries in front of him, too preoccupied with not fainting in his own puke.

"Excuse me!? No way, Moony, _no way _I'm going to touch him."

"Sorry, I'm with Padfoot on this one."

A frustrated grunt resounded through the hall. "Peter, come with me."

The approaching footsteps mixed with the pounding in his ears; two people pulled him up, shoulders supporting his armpits. He tried to stand but failed miserably, so only let out a weak groan of protest when they started to drag him away.

The sound of his own voice shocked him into silence. It simply didn't sound like him at all...

* * *

Fred didn't know when he'd blacked out, but woke up in one of the soft, familiar beds of the Hospital Wing. He was confused for a moment, but it dawned on him he was probably injured. Or just ill. Or probably injured, as he had been so often. Pranking, playing Quidditch or just goofing around. Or all of the above.

The flowery smell of the place made him smile instinctively; whatever it was, if he was with Madame Pomfrey, everything would soon be alright.

He jolted up, wide awake. No, everything was _not_ alright. Voldemort's troops had invaded Hogwarts. Everyone's lives were at stake. He had been fighting with Percy, the world exploded…

Another alarming thought sprang in mind. Why was he here? The wounded were tended in the Great Hall, not the Hospital Wing. And by any right it wasn't supposed to be this light, this peaceful.

Where was George?

"I see you've healed well, young man."

The sight of the old, bearded headmaster startled him tongue-tied. "You should thank the Messrs Lupin, Black, Potter and Pettigrew for finding you." Dumbledore spoke fondly, "They brought you here and warned me, you could've had less luck with who'd be the first person to pass by."

Fred noticed the foursome sitting on the bed across of his, only Lupin paying any genuine attention. It was striking seeing how young and careless they all looked. It was even more striking seeing Lupin there, regarding the one aspect all people in this room –Fred included himself – shared.

"You too." Tears stung in his eyes.

Remus frowned, not understanding.

"You're dead too." Fred explained a little more clearly.

Young Remus' mouth hung open, not really knowing what to respond to that. "Uh, no. I'm most certainly not dead."

"Why do you say, 'too'?" Dumbledore queried.

"Well, it's crudely obvious, innit?" Fred sneered bitterly. "You're dead, Black's dead, Potter's died ages ago, I believe Ron's told me Pettigrew died while in Malfoy's Manor and I wouldn't be surprised if I died just back then. It's the only reasonable explanation, honestly." He quickly wiped his tears away with his much too long sleeve.

"I can only hope George will cope." he added with a much quieter voice.

"Excuse me?" Sirius said with mock indignation. "I'm still very much alive, thank you very much, as are my friends. Would you please quit the act and tell us what's going on here?"

"How are you not dead?" Fred not quite responded, dumbstruck with the news he might actually be alive.

"It's not making up for a good first impression, you know, insisting to people they are dead." Sirius commented brashly. What was on with the 'being dead' thing? Why couldn't the boy just answer the question? He seemed almost as hopeless a case as Snape.

"Huh? He threw up on the floor when we first saw him, how can he still make a good first impression?" Peter unnecessarily reminded them. The only response he got was an unexpected glare from the red-headed boy.

"My dear Mr…"

"Fred Weasley, sir."

"Weasley. Can you please inform us what event had made you believe you are amongst the dead at the moment?" Despite having no life in them anymore, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as ever before. It made Fred wonder.

"Well, we were fighting Death Eaters at Hogwarts – me and Percy, my brother – and then there was this huge explosion, and I believe I kind of got crushed."

"_You _were fighting Death Eaters at Hogwarts, just while we were looking the other way?" Sirius sneered, now openly ridiculing the boy. James sniggered. Sirius was right. This boy clearly was a nutcase, showing up in oversized, bright orange robes, falling ill in the corridor to be perfectly alright an hour after, confirming anyone who would listen of their obvious deaths and now shamelessly claiming to be fighting Death Eaters in secret. Not only did he appear overly incompetent all in all, he was even younger than them!

"If you're not interested in what I've got to say, why don't you bugger off!?" Fred spat. He normally wouldn't react that tense, but well, these circumstances weren't exactly normal, were they?

"It might indeed be in all our best interest if Mr Weasley and I could speak in private for a moment."

Not seeing any real reason to disobey the Head-Master's request, the four friends left to mind their own business. Once they had closed the double wooden doors, Dumbledore turned to Fred again. "I hope you do not have a problem with telling me these things, I wouldn't want to prod at matters where I'm not wished."

"No, it's no trouble, Head-Master. I wouldn't know who else to talk to. I don't comprehend this all myself, in all honesty."

He gave him a fatherly nod. "As it seems safe to assume that I – and with that, you – are not dead, and neither will be in the near future, I can't help but wonder what day it was that that terrible incident occurred."

Fred rose his eyebrows. "You think I've time-travelled, sir?"

"Even as I couldn't phantom how, that does seem as one of the more rational explanations to me."

That would explain why everyone was so much younger indeed, and why they all were still here. "Well, as it were, it was the third of May, actually. Nineteen-ninety-eight."

Dumbledore's eyes smiled warmly over his half-moon glasses. "The fifth of February, nineteen-seventy-one."

"But, how?" Fred exclaimed weakly, "This far back, that's impossible, unheard off!"

"It were… until you turned up. Any guesses yourself?"

"No idea…" he answered bluntly. "What about timelines and stuff? Aren't I supposed to keep everything to myself?"

"You appear to be quite bright, Mr Weasley, but I'll have to disappoint you; as I said, what happened to you is unheard off – a mystery, even to me. I can only advice cautiousness, there isn't anything more I can say. However, if _you_ have any more information to share, I would be glad to help you figuring it out."

Fred missed a breath. For some reason, his ears had picked up the word _cautious_ and Dumbledore's last sentence more clearly than the rest, and his brain had somehow linked them into an alarming train of thought. Dumbledore wanted to know how he'd done it. He wanted Fred to be completely honest, but only to him. Maybe it was because he was missing his twin, but Fred found himself to be suspicious of Dumbledore's motives.

To him, Dumbledore had died a year ago. He probably knew that now, for Fred had so recklessly blurted out everyone's deaths the moment he'd regained consciousness. Of course Harry had said Snape had done it, but Fred ever had the feeling there was something more behind it; Dumbledore had trusted Snape, against anyone's advice. Either he'd made a fatal mistake, which meant even Dumbledore wasn't infallible, or Hogwarts' Head-Master had more secrets than he let on. And then there was that ominous mission he'd sent the trio on, which many people already had given their lives for – hell, where _he _had almost given his life for – yet no one could know what this mission entailed. Why weren't they trusted? If more people had been let into the circle, could lives have been saved?

That instant, Fred decided Dumbledore knew enough. Whatever it was what had happened to Fred, it was not to Dumbledore to figure out. At least, not before Fred had found George.

"No, there's nothing. There was the explosion, I thought I died, and then I opened my eyes in that corridor."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "If I may ask, why was a twelve-year-old fighting Death Eaters in Hogwarts?"

Twelve years old? If Dumbledore had no idea Fred had the mind of someone a little above twenty, he wasn't planning on telling him just yet. "I wanted to fight, I wanted to help my older brother." He'd told the truth, Dumbledore would have to believe it; if Harry could get away with defeating a basilisk in his second year, surely Fred could knock some Death Eaters off their feet.

"You do seem like an intelligent, mature boy." Fred tried not to look at him, afraid if he did so, Dumbledore would see the truth in those words. He really needed to act younger, if he wanted to pass for twelve.

"So if I make up some story and keep the time-traveling secret, could I stay at Hogwarts?" he asked as brightly and innocently as he could. It surprised him how much he could still sound like his twelve-year-old self, trying to charm their mother. _Their_… That's why it still sounded off, though, if he'd really been his normal, twelve-year-old self, George would've been at his side. _Where was he!?_

"Of course you can, assumed you were at Hogwarts before. What house were you in?"

"Gryffindor, second year." As were all twelve-year-olds.

"I'd expected no less. I propose we'll get you some proper school robes and inform Professor McGonagall of the situation, would we say, you're a new student here?"

"I am Fred Weasley, of a long lost Squib Weasley line. I first didn't seem to be talented enough for Hogwarts, but after a sudden growth spurt in my magic I appear to be an exceptionally late blooming wizard, rather than a Muggle." He'd have to be careful of showing off his lying skills, but a good background story was essential.

Dumbledore's smile however only widened. "Excellent. It seems time to introduce you to Minerva, and then to the rest of the student body."


	2. Chapter 2

Meeting McGonagall went smoothly (she was the only other person Dumbledore had informed of Fred's time-travelling predicament), as did introductions with the other second year Gryffindors, of whom he – thanks Merlin's socks and whisker-curler – recognized no one by face or name.

Well, no one but one…

A slightly tanned boy with playful dark curls, dark brown, lively eyes and a cordial, Lee-like smile greedily took Fred's extended hand to throw it enthusiastically up and down. "Lazzaro Zabini, welcome to Gryffindor."

Fred frowned in puzzlement. Wasn't there a Zabini in Slytherin in his old time? Fred had understood Zabini associated with Malfoy and the likes, which didn't mean he had necessarily become a Death Eater, but still, he was a pure-blood supporter who looked down on Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. How could this cheerful young boy ever be related to such a person?

Zabini mistook his pondering for bewilderment however, and recalling Fred's wizard-depraved background story, he immediately plunged into an vast explanation of the many joys of being a Gryffindor: "I know what you're thinking, I had the same at first: what are these houses? It's only the place you sleep, nothing more – but I've been here now more than a year, and I can tell you, it really _does _matter which house you're in. I mean, what they actually do, is that they put you with people who like to do the same kind of things as you like to do, like Gryffindor is the house that likes fun, but we can be a bit too rude and intimidating now and then for shy people, so that's what's Hufflepuff's for, there they put all the shy and nice people so they boast each other's confidence, and then you have Ravenclaw, if a Gryffindor would be in Ravenclaw they would probably be complaining that he's disrupting their studies, they like to study, you see, and it's really a good thing they've put the Slytherins together, only Slytherins dare to sleep with Slytherins, and with reason…"

"As I've heard. With great reason." Fred interrupted.

Lazzaro beamed. "With magnificently great reason, imagine the causalities sleeping with Slytherins could cause."

Fred shuddered. "I'd rather not."

Lazzaro nodded, then thought about what they had said, and paled visibly. Fred burst out laughing. After a moment Lazzaro began chuckling too, and started off a whole story about himself, his family, his friends, why you shouldn't mix horseradish with grinded Erkling eyes, and life in general.

No, future families aside, Fred liked this boys Italian-accented rambling. Lazzaro had that something that reminded him of George, but even more of Lee, that something that made him seem invincible to pain or serious stuff. He seemed to be able to goof around like this all day, joking, laughing, grinning, and so he provided in what Fred now craved for the most: a truly careless companion that could take his mind off things and bring a smile on his face. Then and there, Fred decided that this Lazzaro Zabini would soon be one of his best friends.

* * *

That night he woke up with a start. There'd been an explosion. He'd been buried under tons of debris, and when he finally had crawled out, night had fallen and the whole castle was abandoned. He was alone.

He searched the place for his friends, his family, anyone whom he could spend the night with, where had they gone? Had the battle finished, and had they left without him? Did everyone think he was dead? _Was_ _he dead?_ Suddenly, he saw someone, _one_ person, sitting near the fire of the Common Room, but it was too dim to see who it was.

"Who's there?" Fred had called, relieved for the comfort of another human being, but at the same time suspicious: what was he doing, here, in the dark?

The man, or was it a boy, responded casually, as he would have on any other day...

"Fred."

That single word turned the scene from comforting to sinister, making Fred want nothing but to leave this place, but who could he turn to?

"George, is it you?" he asked, hope against hope, but the annoyed voice was unmistakably his. "Honestly, Fred. If anyone should be able to tell us apart, it should be you. I'm disappointed."

He stepped away from the copy of himself, but just then the evil Fred grabbed his wrist. Still not able to see his face, he tried to pull himself free and for a moment Fred wrestled with himself. He found his wand, blasted his malicious duplicate against the wall which collapsed upon him, killing him, crushing him like he'd been crushed, leaving George all alone – wait…

_He_ was all alone, and he'd just killed Fred!

That was the point he'd woken up, soaked in sweat, feeling a horrible, irrational guilt washing over him, until he shook the nightmare away. What the heck? He wasn't George, and he certainly hadn't killed himself. It was pointless, beyond absurd to think he'd actually believed that in his dream. The whole dream had been beyond absurd, and terribly unsettling.

He glanced over to the bed next to him, where normally his twin would lay, but which now was occupied by a boy named Norman Evershire. The abandoned feeling of his dream remained.

He let his head fall back in his pillow. Were they searching for him, in the future? Or had that all ceased to existed, never had been there in the first place? Were Arthur and Molly even married? It was years before they would be born.

Nineteen-seventy-one, the fifth of February, now the sixth of February, was it? He took a look at the clock on his night desk. Yes, the sixth of February. A quarter to six. Soon everyone would wake up and get dressed for breakfast.

It was weird, being a second year again. The lessons would be boring, he reckoned – maybe he could help Lazzaro a bit. The corners of his lips pulled up in a half-smile. Fred Weasley helping someone with their schoolwork, who would've imagined.

A little later he was trudging down the stairs to breakfast, Lazzaro and a friend of his named Thomas Cornfoot at his side. When they passed a group of Slytherins at the entrance of the Great Hall, Fred tried his very best _not_ to look at them, yet couldn't avoid recognizing some of the Death Eaters they'd been fighting against in the war. However, he clenched his teeth, he clenched his fists, and followed Lazzaro to the Gryffindor table, since as long as he didn't know what was going on, cautiousness was advised.

Breakfast was relatively peaceful, he wasn't asked questions he couldn't think of an answer on and Thomas and Lazzaro introduced him to some of the faces and the quirks of the school, of which some he already was familiar with, and some not. Only when he had just finished his first helping, the Great Hall was awakened by a great ruckus near the hallway…

"That's Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail." Lazzaro explained with a half-smile, "They're the Marauders."

The Marauders? Fred noticed most of the yelling came from the Death Eater group, pink smoke rising up from their midst. Furious glares were send at a group of four Gryffindors, racing down the aisles giggling and chuckling on their way. Remus, Sirius, James and Pettigrew.

"They are a year older than us, and the main reason why there is always something going on in Gryffindor house – they love pranking. Which is also the reason you shouldn't cross them though, they won't refrain from hexing you. But don't worry, as long as you aren't a Slytherin and aren't an arse, you'll be fine."

He saw now the victim of their prank: a small, greasy haired boy was covered in bright pink goo, that seemed to stick onto his clothes and on his face, blocking his view. Then Fred suddenly recognized it as one of the discarded products of Zonko's, already out of sale before he was even allowed to visit the shop – Bursting Bubble Gum: Blowing up before it's even eaten.

One of the Death Eaters he only recognized from photos called after the four, pulling out his wand. Sirius turned swiftly and did the same, before hastily ducking away from a bright purple flash of light. Scrambling up again, his wand in his hand and his friends at his back, he was interrupted by the loud voice of a certain Minerva McGonagall: "NO DUELING IN THE CORRIDORS!"

Fred snorted as his mind flashed back to the terrible battle – that he had partaken in – in the school. No duelling in the corridors. The irony.

The Marauders turned around sheepishly, grinning at the tall woman looming menacingly over the quartet. "My office. At seven. All four of you. Professor Slughorn will deal with the Slytherins." She glared over her glasses at Remus. "I'm disappointed in you, Mr Lupin."

"Their real names are Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." Thomas clarified needlessly. However, he could impossibly know Fred new exactly who – and what – they were.

McGonagall left for the teacher's table and the foursome walked over to an empty space a little down the Gryffindor table. When they eagerly started on their breakfast, Fred suddenly caught James' eye. He really did look like Harry.

James nudged Sirius and gestured over the table. Sirius looked up too, as did Peter and Remus. Fred was staring back unashamedly. Then he apparently remembered he wasn't supposed to know them beyond yesterday, and returned to filling his empty plate like nothing had happened.

Nonetheless, it was too late, as Sirius, Remus and James stood up and approached the odd little boy, wanting to know now _exactly_ what he was doing here.

"So now you're in Gryffindor, huh?" James said, commenting on Fred's school uniform and red and golden tie.

Lazzaro beamed at the older boy. "Yes, he is! He is a late student, but accepted at Hogwarts anyways and yesterday he has been sorted into Gryffindor and added to the group!"

"Yeah," said Fred, who turned around to face the Marauders, "and sorry for yesterday, I don't know what came over me. I can promise you, I'm not usually such a loon when meeting people."

He stood up and offered his hand, with a grin even wider than Lazzaro's. "So, all fainting and death people aside, let me try again. Fred Weasley, late-blooming wizard with pure-blood-Squib ancestry and fellow Gryffindor and prankster, a pleasure."

"So you're a prankster too?" asked James as he shook his hand.

"As a fact, I am."

"Oh, James," exclaimed Sirius, "It seems we've found competition here!" Fred wasn't sure he was being sarcastic or not.

James smirked, and eyed him as if calculating whether Fred was a worthy opponent. Beside him, Lazzaro kept grinning obliviously (Blaise surely had inherited the Slytherin genes from his mother's side) and Thomas showed a befitting mixture of excitement and fear. Fred absentmindedly noticed Pettigrew had crept behind his friends again.

"James." Remus groaned wearily. "He's only just arrived here! Give him a rest, will you?"

This sparked Fred to take action. "Oh no, Remus!" Remus' eyes widened slightly at the mention of his name, but one glance at Lazzaro told him enough. "Now you're really underestimating me. A rest – will you, please! – I've done more than enough resting in the Hospital Wing. Now, it's time for fun!" He clasped his hands together, silently laughing at the glances the Marauders were giving each other – if they hadn't thought Fred was insane before, they certainly did now.

"So what was it you wanted to propose to me, my dearest James?" he called jovially, "Tagging along with your little group, getting one on the Slytherins? Creating some great riot in the hall, to serve as a cover for your own mischief? I've heard about the kind of things you've done, and I greatly approve. Would love to join, actually." He gave them his evilest smirk, to convince them of his truly felt devotion. This was one of his greatest childhood dreams ever since finding the map, pranking with the Marauders! And if he ever needed something to distract his mind, now was the time.

"Join us!?" Sirius exclaimed indignantly, "Why would we allow sneaky, ickle second-years!? Not wanting to offend you, or anything, but I doubt you'll ever be able keep up."

Fred looked at Peter again, this time with one raised eye-brow. A moment later he shook off his pondering again, and put up a semi-affronted face.

"No offense taken, but it seems to me you're mistaking me for an ordinary, sneaky, ickle second-year! Do you really want to imply I'm an amateur on the noble field of pranking?"

James smirked. "I'd rather call it a bluff."

"That's it!" Fred cried dramatically, an accusing finger hovering in front of the offending boy's spectacles. "Pranking war, starting this lunch!"

He had to suppress his sniggering as he heard several gasps around him. Had he really now challenged the Marauders to a pranking war? Yes, he had. How could he not, they had just accused him of being not up to their standards! And even though the Marauders had been the twins' gods and role-models for much of their time at Hogwarts, he had his name as joke shop owner to defend.

Caught by a sudden flame of competition, James wildly pointed back, almost touching Fred's nose, hollering: "You're on!"

That was it. He sat back on the bench, returned to his much needed food (there was a reason they'd only start at lunch time) and resumed eating, ignoring the wide-eyed stares he was getting from his house-mates.

"Have you any idea what you've just done?" said Thomas in a whisper.

"Yes," he replied casually, "I'm about to put those wankers in their place."

"Didn't you listen!?" Lazzaro almost squealed, "I told you, they're the Marauders! One does not cross them, or they get relentlessly pranked! Why don't you listen when I talk!"

"I did listen." Fred told them factually. "And I know _exactly_ what I'm up to."

Thomas shook his head. "You're in for it, buddy. They are the worst troublemakers the school has ever seen. McGonagall says so herself!"

Fred only smirked; as the next words that left his mouth weren't meant for anyone to hear. "Reckon she does. Though, she has yet to meet the Weasley twins…"

* * *

**For anyone who noticed, I'm aware the Marauders are all a few years older than canon. See this as a bit of artistic freedom from my side: It wouldn't do having them younger than Fred and the reason Fred can't be a bit younger himself... you'll find out. Besides, I always thought it odd almost all characters in HP have their first children in their early twenties...  
**


	3. Chapter 3

As he had foreseen, second year lessons were… well, boring. At Transfiguration, McGonagall had handed them each a box with mice, which the students should transform in teacups following the instructions in the book. Weren't it for McGonagall's watchful eye, he'd just turned all those stupid mice in a tea set already and started plotting his pranks with Lazzaro and Thomas, but as it were, he had to act like this material was new for him.

So he watched how his classmates struggled with the spell, and simply began copying them: stressing the words purposefully wrong, deliberately missing his target, yelling on top of his voice, waving his wand as if it were his Beater bat rather than a fragile wooden stick.

Actually, it became sort of entertaining, watching the others blunder. Evershire tried so hard making the correct flick he made a little jump with every incantation. One of the Hufflepuff's got so worked up his mice blew up like balloons and floated away, reminding Fred of Harry's Aunt Marge. The group of girls in front of him was mostly giggling instead of practising the spell, and shrieking whenever a mouse came near the side of the box.

A mischievous smile crept onto his face. He leaned over his box so Thomas and Lazzaro wouldn't see it, and fired a few doubling spells – for the maximum effect. Then, he stood back, said the incantation and made a great swirl with his wand, toppling over his box so all mice fell over the tittering tarts. The effect was immediate.

"Ho! Look out! My mice've escaped!"

"… EEEEHHHHHHH!"

"There is one in my robe, THERE IS ONE IN MY ROBE!"

"Catch them, don't let them escape!"

"THEY'RE ATTACKING ME!"

"Sybil, catch that mouse for me!"

"Mouse!? _What mouse!? Get it away from me!_"

"LADIES!" At once all screams were silenced under the stern gaze of an agitated McGonagall. With one flick of her wand all mice had disappeared. "What has gotten to you! They're only mice, no fire-spitting salamanders! And you…" she scowled at Fred, "What were you _thinking_? Throwing your mice at your class mates!? I expected better behaviour of you, Mr Weasley."

"But professor," it was a bit early to start calling her Minnie already, "it was an accident!"

"Could you then _please _read to me the instructions in the book and tell me _how_ it does involve knocking over the target?"

Fred glanced down at his opened book and read the instructions out loud. "The _Terra Vivus _spell has the ability to change any given animal – preferably of the class Mammalia or Aves – into an item of pottery. One preforms the spell by saying the incantation clearly (TER-rah VEE-vus) while making a swift wand-movement downwards from the wrist, ending with the wand pointing at the intended target. One should not have to move any part of the body but the hand, nor should one have to make any movement but a straight line downwards."

"Is there any point in these instructions unclear to you?"

"No ma'am." Could Minerva honestly not see that Fred had just been enacting his fellow students?

She wordlessly summoned a mouse from Thomas' box and put it into Fred's. "Then would you care to perform the spell for me?"

He looked at the professor, he looked at the mouse, restrained a chuckle, cleared his throat audibly, stretched his wand hand over the mouse and then made a swift flick downwards. "Terra Vivus!"

The mouse changed into bright purple mug, festively decorated with flickering lights.

The surprise on her face reluctantly broke McGonagall's strict gaze; she seemed actually impressed with his spell work. Only one second later however, she regained her scowling composure. "Five points from Gryffindor for letting mice loose in the classroom, ten points _to _Gryffindor for showing competence over the material." She gave him a piercing glare over her glasses. "Try not to make it a negative."

Fred simply flashed her a smile.

Once her back was turned on them and she was far out of earshot, Lazzaro gave up pretending he could focus on his own improvement in the spell and diverted his attention to an _actually _intriguing subject: Fred. "How did you do that?" he whispered, amazement gleaming in his eyes, "I know you weren't really trying back then, so how did you manage to get it right at once?"

"Oh," he muttered, silently priding himself for being so conniving, "I guess these kind of things just come easily to me."

The Italian scowled, but his permanent grin made it hard to take him serious. "You lucky bastard!"

He just offered him on his own most infuriating smirk.

The remaining hour they'd spent going through all possibilities to prank the Marauders, though admittedly the two younger boys weren't much help. For one, they were both rather anxious pranking them, neither wanting to get too far or too involved, and another thing was Fred knew far more of the foursome than he could let on; not only would he risk blowing his cover if he let something slip, he could upset the time-lines in a most disquieting manner and hurt people he considered his friends. His stomach turned at the thought of bringing Lupin's secret out in the open.

No, however inflated their heads may be, Remus' furry problem would remain untouched, as would the secret of their illegal Animagi-forms, though Fred doubted they'd have come that far yet. Also Sirius' family issues were out of the question, and he just refused to think of Pettigrew as the direct target.

The rat deserved a far crueller fate than a harmless prank.

* * *

James was the one to come up with the idea. Sirius was the one who would put it into motion. Remus was the one clever enough to mention not only Fred, but Lily Evans also had red hair. James feared for his secret crush, and sent out Peter to refrain her from entering the great hall. And all other red-heads, by the way, except a certain Fred Weasley, he was free to walk in.

As such, all Marauders with the exception of Peter Pettigrew, sat waiting at the Gryffindor table in anticipation.

"Uh, James, Remus, Sirius?" James and Remus looked around to find the blond boy who'd spoken, Thomas Cornfoot, and his friend Lazzaro Zabini.

"We want you to know we – Lazzaro and I – don't take part in this thing between you and Fred." Cornfoot glanced around at Zabini, who smiled at him but looked just as queasy. "We don't want to get involved."

James gave them a genuine smile. "No problem, it's him who's challenged us, not you."

He saw Cornfoot and Zabini ease at his words. They smiled gratefully, and headed to their own place. None of them had planned any pranks on the two, as they knew this urge to get one on the Marauders was Fred and Fred only. Nevertheless, if they did decide to help Fred with his plans, they would have every reason to worry…

Just then, Fred Weasley foolishly stepped through the large double doors, causing a great amount of water and foam to appear from the nothingness above his head and pour all over him.

James and Sirius roared with laughter as all students stared in shock at the fiery red-head being quenched. One by one, they came out of their daze, and began to giggle and rumour with their neighbours. Remus had severe difficulties not bursting out in chortles, and even Thomas and Lazzaro couldn't suppress a smile at Fred's soaked, foam covered, dumbfounded face.

At last, the victim found the Marauders, and gave them an acknowledging smile. Remus was silently glad Fred seemed to take it rather well, he'd hate creating true hostilities within the Gryffindor tower. Where he was concerned, their animosity with Snape was bad enough. Still, the young werewolf also saw this wasn't over yet. Fred had shown respect, no surrender. Even as Fred left a wet trail towards their table, his smirk made Remus perfectly aware he still had his own joke planned.

A few minutes after they'd stopped hollering and started eating Sirius felt something climbing up his leg: little paws clung onto his trousers and the weight dangled off his knee. Something softly stroke his ankle…

His friends gave him odd looks as his smile vanished and he ducked beneath the table. There it was… sniffling and clawing and looking straight at him with terrified, almost human eyes. A rat!

Sirius rumpled his face in disgust, and tried to shake it off.

James and Remus, both sitting opposite of him, traded non-understanding stares before peering under the cloth as well. James frowned as well at the sight. "Whose rat is that? It can't be wild, can it?"

Remus sniffed in the air. "Does smell familiar."

"What in Merlin, Remus!? You're sniffing at a rat?"

The werewolf shrugged.

"Well, I don't care what he smells like, why don't you help and get it off me!?"

James sat straight again to shake his head disapprovingly. "And breaking off true love? Can't you _see_!? He's obviously infuriated with you, would you deny him his one true love!? Think of the possibilities!"

Sirius shot James a withering glare. Beneath the wood, the rat was rather clinging on dear life than on dear Sirius.

"It _seems _tame." Remus informed them with a too amused smirk, "Maybe just tell him you don't return his feelings?"

Sirius scowled at his friends for not taking his problem serious, but nonetheless ducked under the table again. "GET THE HELL OFF!"

To everyone's surprise, the rat squealed and ran off. The cause for this however, soon became clear as it leapt on Sirius' lap.

"WHOSE CAT IS THIS!"

James and Remus chuckled, until somewhere at the Ravenclaw table a pigtailed girl started yelling, "Hey! Miss Prissy? Where are you going? Miss Prissy!? Miss Prissyyyyy! Miiiiss Priiiiissyyyyyyyy!" A moment later Miss Prissy was brushing her head against James' pants.

Another cat was coming, black with white patches, jumping on James in an attempt to lick his ear, just as a large red male took over Remus' lap and began eating from his dish.

Just then, a needing meow came from Sirius' side. He looked at it; Sirius' face lost all colour, his mouth set in a grim line as his panicked eyes were focused on a spine-chilling sight….

Mrs Norris, looking as if she'd found the perfect father of her many, many little kittens.

While more and more cats and kittens came to snuggle against the Marauders and the whole great hall watched them in either annoyance or amusement, Fred felt kind of lost. Despite Thomas looking at him in awe and Lazzaro copying Fred's own face splitting grin, he missed someone to nudge, to collapse into in laughter, to make the final joke with, to high-five with and to stand up with, walk over to the Marauders with and tease them together about them having always been the cat-lover type. He'd never pranked anyone without George.

His smile faded quickly, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. What was this? He wasn't supposed to be an emotional wrack. He was Fred Weasley, for Merlin's sake! But who was Fred without George?

"Hey, Fred… Fred!" He looked to his left where Thomas looked at him with worry in his eyes. "Are you okay? Isn't this your prank?"

Fred's reaction startled Thomas. Or it wasn't his reaction really, but one short moment, Fred eyes locked with his, and at that moment Fred looked so much older than they both were, so much more responsible, and he couldn't bear the burden. But then, Fred's smile reappeared, and broke bravely through his worry.

"Yes, it's mine. I'm fine, sorry." he confirmed, before swiftly looking back at the food and hiding his expression.

That night, he heard him tossing in his bed. Thomas rose slowly, cautious not to wake anyone, and looked over at the bed where his red-haired friend lay. His curtains hung open, just like yesterday he'd left them open for some reason, but it didn't seem to bring him any form of comfort. Fred was obviously having a nightmare.

Despite being a Gryffindor, Thomas didn't dare to wake him from wherever he was in his dream. He felt that, whatever what was wrong with his friend, Fred wanted to keep it private. So the only thing Thomas could hope, was that one day soon Fred would bring it up himself.


End file.
